Aging Gracefully
by gunpowdertealeaves
Summary: Some drabbles about F!HawkexFenris. Mostly from Fenris' POV. I'm a hopeless romantic, so it'll be pretty sappy. Will be T for now, who knows if I'll put in smut later? R&R please! (I switch between different scenarios with Hawke, like class and such)
1. Hair

Fenris noticed that, out of all the others in their group, Hawke never cut her hair. Well, that was a lie; she trimmed it when it was too unruly for her to handle, with split ends that made her look like a child who had never been touched by a comb or scissors. Her black hair was always messy, no matter its length, but as the years passed, it grew like vines on the walls of her estate.

Before they had ventured into the Deep Roads with Varric and his traitorous brother, Hawke's hair had been a short mess of black feathers on her head. Fenris' hair had been far longer than hers, as she could barely run her fingers through it without scratching her scalp. She would pull at the small locks everytime she was annoyed, when Anders begged her to have mercy on some mage or another or when Merrill pleaded with her, telling her the demon she had consorted with was friendly. When Isabella had flirted with her she would scratch the short fuzz on the back of her neck and blush. Her hair was as short as her temper then, when she would yell as she ran into battle, her daggers drawn and already lashing out at raiders and slavers before anyone else in their party had noticed the danger. She would slice into her enemies and run to the next one, covered in blood. Sometimes Fenris forgot what color her hair and armor really were. She would so often leave the battle soaked through with the blood. The saccharine liquid would give her a kind of ethereal shine, like it was the only thing that kept her there, with him. She would smile through the blood and wounds, ignoring the pain to show him that she was okay.

Before the Qunari attacked Kirkwall, her hair had been longer; not Aveline or Isabela's length, but a bit longer than her sister's. Fenris noticed that her hair had shown how much she had grown in three years, from the cocky, brash rogue who was finally done paying her debt to the smugglers and was free. She was nobility now, above him. She was so much more calm, not gentle per sae, but understanding where she had over reacted. She was no longer a woman who wished for her own life, she was a woman who _had _her own life, and more.  
The small strands that managed to escape her hair tie framed her tattoos perfectly, curving along with them down the sides of her face. Her hair made her eyes pop, the already bright and eager blue made even more noticeable by the contrast between her dark hair and tanned skin. Fenris always wondered what her father looked like; Hawke neither resembled her mother or sister, except with the shape of their lips. She must've gotten her looks from her paternal family.

In the three years after she became the Champion, She had given up trying to keep her hair under control. She began putting it in a messy bun high on her head, so it wouldn't get caught in her armor or be grabbed by an enemy who thought about fighting dirty. More than once, during their regular Wicked Grace card games, Hawke would let Merrill and Isabela take her hair down and braid it; Fenris remembered her leaving the Hanged Man with him one night with a beautiful green feather and several beads woven into her hair. When he had asked, she glanced away nervously, telling him that she wasn't one for looking that way. She had told him that looking so feminine, so much like her mother or Bethany made her feel wrong. That she was the family's protector, that she didn't have such time for pretty hair that got in the way. Even without her mother and sister, she still felt wrong. With her hair almost waist length, she could easily take it down and hide behind the thick locks when she was afraid. She had, on occasion, done so, when Isabela asked how she had spent the night before; she did not spend it alone, as she and Fenris now spent most nights together at her estate. They did not sleep much. She could hide her blush behind the curtain of hair, or a scowl when Anders said she was soft on the Templars.

Hawke's hair grew as much as she had in the six years she had been in Kirkwall with Fenris and their friends. But after Meredith, after the Chantry, she left. She told no one where she was going; she left letters for each of her friends, she had left a few sovereigns for each. She woke Fenris one night, a few days after all had been said and done, and told him to pack everything he thought he would need. She sat on his bed as he gathered his belongings in a tattered burlap sack a took a knife to her hair and cut it off; as short as it had been when she first got off the boat and stepped foot in Kirkwall. Fenris watched in amazement as six years washed away from her face, falling in a small pile on the floor. They would leave Kirkwall together. They would leave the last six years of their lives, and while Hawke looked like the young, angry woman she had been, Fenris knew that she was far from it.


	2. Panic

**Wow, hi! Hope y'all like this so far! This whole thing of drabbles is mostly going to be my headcanon about Fenris/Hawke's relationship throughout the came, both following and diverging from the events in the game. **

** Also totally my headcanon that after watching their sibling brutally killed (and a shitton of other people), Hawke started suffering from severe anxiety attacks that only got worse as the years passed by. This one is kinda sad, but I hope you like it**

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Fenris had never really understood what panic was. Merrill had said it was like one's heart exploding, right before they were hurt, or when they were scared. Fenris always scoffed and brushed her off, but he knew what she meant, though he never felt it. He had remembered the abuses he suffered when he was still a slave, he knew they would come, sometimes the exact moment; but he never worried about them. He was so used to them he no longer feared the pain. He did not feel nervous at night when he knew Hadrianna would come to torment him. He expected it and bared through it, ignoring it and sometimes pretending it wasn't happening. He had become so good at losing himself in his subconscious that he even did it in battle, when Anders wasn't with them to heal him and Hawke and the others were too distracted to help him. He would become overwhelmed by corpses and raiders and fall, losing his sword and any energy he had left and hid in his mind. When he would come to, bloody and in pain, he would pick up his sword and stagger home and wrap himself up. He wasn't afraid of being hurt or those slow moments in between an enemy's blade and his body. But Hawke was a different matter.

Fenris remembered when they were in the Deep Roads, with Hawke refusing to bring Bethany for fear of something happening to her. Fenris didn't understand why not, Bethany might have been a mage, but she wasn't defenseless; Hawke loved the girl and even Fenris didn't _hate_ her like he did Anders. She could've taken care of herself. When he questioned Hawke, she simply laughed, strained as it was, and said that it was so her mother could sleep better. He could tell she was lying, but he decided not to push it. She was uncharacteristically quiet as they traveled deeper in the roads and Anders complained loudly about his hate of the place. Fenris would notice every so often that Hawke would glance nervously around the caves and flinch when any noise echoed through the tunnels. He had brushed it off as her being cautious, but he was very wrong.

Varric had said they had been walking for about two days before they saw the first darkspawn. Everyone froze before they were seen, and Varric whispered for Bartrand to take the hirelings and go back the way they had come for a few hundred yards. Fenris was happy there was finally something to fight, and Anders even seemed eager to fight as well, but Hawke only stood in horror. Her arms hung loosely by her sides and she hadn't even made to reach for her daggers before the hurlock saw them and began to charge. Fenris could hear others deeper in the cave and saw Anders cast a fire spell to try and slow them down. They both happily charged, fighting darkspawn left and right until Hawke let out an unholy yell.

They were both surprised when Hawke ran past them, holding loosely onto her daggers and screaming as she attacked every darkspawn in sight. She screamed and ripped through one hurlock before moving to the next, surprising Fenris with her ferocity. She had begun saying someone's name, screaming _you bastards_ as she carved a line in their enemies. It wasn't until the darkspawn were dead that she stopped, gasping for breath and covered in thick, black blood. _I'm fine_, she had mumbled when he tried to talk to her, brushing his hand away from her. Varric had reluctantly gone to find his brother and they continued down the roads.

Fenris knew something was terribly wrong with her when they had the misfortune of stumbling upon a dozen hurlocks as well as an ogre. This time when Hawke screamed, it wasn't followed by a charge; She simply fell to her knees and kept screaming, clutching her head with her hands. He could hear Bartrand swear and Varric yell to her, beckoning her to get up, get out of the way, the ogre was about to charge Hawke-

But Fenris was faster and launched himself into the lumbering beast, managing to distract it long enough to forget about Hawke and focus on him instead. It took all three of them to take it down, but it fell, along with the other darkspawn littering the room.

Bartrand had yelled at Hawke, shaking her by the collar of her armor, but she didn't respond, didn't even look at him. Fenris saw him raise his hand like was going to slap her, but he yanked the small dwarf's arm back before he had the chance. _Lay a hand on her and you'll lose it, dwarf. _He had growled, throwing Bratrand's arm away. He had grumbled something about sodding elves and rubbed his wrist as Fenris bent down and gently took Hawke's arm and slowly pulled her to her feet. He heard her crying softly and longed to help her, but all he could do was watch helplessly as Anders asked her what was wrong and if she needed healing, if she was hurt. She shook her head and told him no.

They saw no more darkspawn in the Deep Roads after that and Hawke seemed to be fine. It wasn't until three years later that Fenris had found out what really happened.

_I've been meaning to ask you, for a long time actually, what... What happened in the Deep Roads, Hawke? _He questioned one night. Hawke was sitting on top of the rickety desk Fenris had kept in his room, running her fingers idly along its dusty surface.

_I... I remembered Carver's death. When I saw those darkspawn, I saw us being overwhelmed when we were running away from _Lothering_. I saw the ogre smash Carver into the ground, again and again... _She sucked in a deep breath and shuddered as she exhaled, bringing her hands up to her face. _I see him when I go to sleep, Fenris, I see him bleeding and broken and Mother crying. I even see myself stabbing Wesley in the ribs so he wouldn't die from the taint. I see them all Fenris... _He could hear her breaths come out quicker and shallower, and she started shuddering hard, holding onto her shoulders. _I see Mother dead in my arms Fenris, I see Quentin with what's left of her, I see every person I couldn't save- _

Hawke let out a loud sob and nearly fell off the desk, but Fenris was quick enough to catch her before she hit the floor. She was crying and gasping on what little breath she managed to take in. Fenris knew he had to do something, anything, to calm her down, so he ran his hand carefully up and down her spine through her armor. She shook in his arms and tried to talk, but Fenris hushed her. He picked her up and sat her in his lap on the floor. She clung to his chest and sobbed like a child, but he only whispered in Arcanum, all the things he couldn't bring himself to say to her otherwise. He told her he loved her and that he would make sure she would never be scared again, but it was all lost to her. Slowly, Hawke's breathing slowed, and her sob became quiet and were punctuated with occasional hiccups.

Fenris had no idea how long he sat there with Hawke in his lap, calming her with a language foreign to her Fereldan ears, listening until finally her breath came out evenly, and her grip on his chest plate loosened completely. He looked down at her, pushing long strands of hair back from her face as he realized that she had fallen asleep. He leaned back against the desk and rubbed her back comfortingly, letting himself fall asleep with her.


	3. No One's Slave

**OKAY I was not expecting to write this chapter but i saw this post that the-champion-of-the-citadel wrote in the Fenris tag and I thought it was perfect? So I hope you like it! And this is totally not canon, sorry**

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The whole world was buzzing around Fenris as Hawke accompanied him to the Hanged Man. Aveline had said the Varania was there, had actually come. _I'm finally going to see her_, he thought. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He jerked when Hawke placed a gloved hand on his forearm. "Fenris, you're shaking. Are you sure you're all right?"

Fenris tried to clear his head. "Yes, I am fine. I am... a bit nervous, Hawke." She gave him a smile that made his insides twist almost painfully, the first earnest smile she had given him since their night together long ago. He turned away from her and continued on, focusing only on his sister. _I wonder what she looks like. I wonder what her voice sounds like_, he thought, remembering only the brief flashes of her he had seen in his mind. All he really knew was red hair that rivaled Aveline's. He could hear Anders next to Hawke, muttering under his breath, asking her why _he _was here when they wouldn't be fighting, just talking. "You can leave if you want, mage. I did not request your assistance." He snarled. He heard an intake of breath that he assumed was Anders getting ready to retort, but they had already arrived. He heard Hawke swat the mage's arm and he smiled. _Of course she would silence him. She hates him almost as much as myself, _he mused.

Glancing quickly back at Hawke, Fenris pushed the door to the bar open quickly, before he had the chance to convince himself otherwise and run back to his mansion. His eyes fell on a young woman, a shock of red hair tied high on her head in a neat bun. "It really is you..." She muttered, looking away from him.

"Varania..." Fenris said. He sucked in a breathe he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "I... I remember you. We played in our master's courtyard while mother worked. You called me-"

"Leto." She finished, standing up to meet his gaze. "That's your name." She looked away slowly, sorrowfully. Fenris was worried he had done something. _No, I'm finally finding out, I can't screw this up. _

"What's wrong? Why're you so-"

Hawke's arm shot out, grabbing Fenris urgently. "Fenris, we have to get out of here!" She exclaimed, trying to pull him away from Varania. His head jerked forward when he heard footsteps coming from the second floor. Danarius waked down calmly, followed by a half dozen guards. _Slavers, _he thought_, I knew the Hanged Man was too quiet, I knew this was too good to be true. I knew it. _

"Ah, my little Fenris. Predictable as always." Fenris didn't know what he was feeling. He was heartbroken that Varania had tricked him, that he had believed he still had family and a past he could be happy about.

"I'm sorry it came to this, Leto."

Fenris snarled at stepped towards Varania until his face was inches from her own. "You _led _him here."

"Now now Fenris, don't blame your sister. She did what any good Imperial citizen should." Danarius was standing next to Varania now, and Fenris backed away quickly, standing next to Hawke.

"I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius!" He gestured to his arms in disgust. "But I **won't **let you kill me to get them." Danarius only chuckled, looking between Fenris and the woman he stood so close too, realization dawning in his eyes.

"How little you know. And this is your new master then? The Champion of Kirkwall? Impressive." He gave Hawke a sickly sweet smile. She scowled at him.

"Fenris doesn't _belong _to anyone." She spat. Fenris glanced back at her and saw the determined look on her face. _That is the look of a woman with a purpose. _

"Do I detect a note of jealousy? It's not surprising, the lad is rather skilled, isn't he?"

"Shut your mouth, Danarius!" Fenris' skin began to glow, the lyrium in him vibrating with hatred. Danarius shot Fenris a deadly look.

"The word is _master, _and you shall obey me Fenris." Danarius looked at Fenris' companions; The Champion of Kirkwall, an apostate healer and young Dalish mage. He smirked. "You _shall _obey me, Fenris. Kill them." Fenris' eyes grew wide as he realized what Danarius had meant. _He wants me to kill them. He wants me to kill Hawke. _

His head spun as he remembered his months with the Fog Warriors, the large Qunari that bandaged him and respected his hatred of magic. The first time he had felt free and how liberating it was, how they accepted him without question. He remembered living with them. He remembered Danarius and the dozens of slavers he had hired walking coolly into the camp, leaving a trail of bodies behind them, of Qunari and slavers alike. Danarius had ordered them, under the rule of the Imperium, to release the slave into his custody. The Fog Warriors had refused, forming a protective shield around Fenris. _I lived with them and fought with them. But when Danarius came, I slaughtered them all. All because he told me too. Because my fantasy world came crashing down._

Fenris reached back slowly to grip the handle of his great sword, one that Hawke had found in their travels in the Deep Roads. _I know you love Lethandralis, but the blade is old and rusted, _she had urged. _You don't have to get rid of it, but please, for my sake, use a new sword. _He had agreed, however begrudgingly. He remembered all the times she had fussed over him, helping him up after battle when he had an arrow through his leg. How she would visit him in his mansion after every quest the took together, and walked with him to and from the Hanged Man on Wicked Grace nights. The night they spent together, when she had assured him that his marks didn't make him ugly, and taught him to love his body, not hate it.

He heard Hawke gasp behind him. He heard Anders reach for his own staff and the crackling of electricity of his magic begin to swell. He heard Merrill muttering _no_ under her breath. He saw Danarius smile, crossing his arms over his chest.

_I am no one's slave. _He thought as he pulled his sword free and looked Danarius sharply in the eyes. _I am not afraid. I am no slave. _

"No." His voice was barely a whisper, but Danarius heard it well enough. The magister scowled and grabbed his staff, readying for battle.

_I am no slave_, Fenris thought again, ready to fight his previous master. _And I will not betray Hawke like I did to the Fog Warriors. _


End file.
